“Breathtaking. I’ll take you over to see my garden some afternoon. I hire landscapers to maintain it because I work such long hours, but I still spend a lot of my leisure time puttering in the dirt.” He killed the truck engine, threw open his door, and then turned to help her out. “Max, you stay put.”
An elderly man in blue overalls, a threadbare red shirt, and a limp straw hat met them at the end of the drive. His kindly blue eyes warmed with friendliness as he shook Samantha’s hand. Then he led the way around to the pastures and outbuildings in back.
Old Doc, the buckskin gelding with the sudden passion for dirt, stood motionless with his head hanging dejectedly as they approached his pen. His elderly owner unfastened the chain on the gate and preceded them into the enclosure.
“I’m sorry to bring you out on a Sunday, Tucker, especially when it’s not your weekend to take calls. But he’s in a bad way, and I don’t trust anyone else. I’ve never seen anything like this. He’s eating dirt like there’s no tomorrow. Downright strange, I tell you.”
Tucker spoke softly to the horse, then asked, “Is he off his feed?”
“It bein’ summer, I’m mostly only givin’ him hay. He ate a little this mornin’, but not much.” Sorenson gestured to a pile on the ground nearby. “You can see for yourself he didn’t eat a lot.”
Samantha crouched beside the mound to more closely inspect the hay. “You guessed right, Tucker. This stuff is loaded with foxtails.” Glancing up at Sorenson, she added, “I’ll bet you got it from Crystal Falls Feed and Tack.”
“Yep.” The old man lumbered over to squint at the pile. “Foxtails, you say? My eyes aren’t what they used to be. I never noticed.”
“Lots of foxtails,” she replied. “They delivered a truckload of bad hay to my place, too, but my foreman caught it right away and sent it back.”
Tucker ran a hand along the ridge of the gelding’s neck. Then, murmuring reassurances, he drew back the animal’s lip. Standing at his elbow, Samantha saw pus oozing out over the horse’s bottom gum. Further exploration revealed two large abscesses under Old Doc’s tongue.
“It’s foxtails, all right,” Tucker told the retired farmer. “This is the third case I’ve had.” He glanced over his shoulder at Samantha. “Somebody needs to raise hell with the owner of that feed store. I can’t be the only vet who’s seeing this. Sooner or later somebody’s going to lose a horse to colic or internal abscesses.”
“Is Old Doc gonna be all right?” Sorenson asked.
“I hope so.”
Samantha saw regret in Tucker’s expression that he couldn’t offer John Sorenson more reassurance. But telling white lies, even to ease a client’s mind, simply wasn’t Tucker’s way. The realization had come to Samantha the night Blue Blazes had gone crazy from the overdose of morphine, and she’d been mentally circling it ever since. If a man was unfailingly honest in every other aspect of his life, didn’t it follow that he would never be deceptive in a personal relationship?
A tight, breathless feeling squeezed her chest, and once again she allowed her thoughts to scatter rather than reach the only possible conclusion, that Tucker Coulter, despite his charm and good looks, could be trusted absolutely and unconditionally in any situation. She didn’t know why it panicked her to think along those lines, but it did. It was like standing at the edge of a high cliff and feeling the earth giving way beneath her feet.
“Well,” Sorenson said, “do what you have to do, Tucker. I know it’ll cost a pretty penny, but me and Old Doc go back a long ways. I can’t bear to lose him.”
Tucker gave Old Doc a measuring look to estimate his weight and then prepared an injection. “I’m erring on the side of caution,” he explained as he administered the shot, “by going light with the sedative just in case Old Doc has a weak ticker. His heart sounds strong, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Patting the horse’s neck, he said, “That should do the trick, but he won’t be out for long. Once he goes down, I’ll have to work fast.”
Three minutes later the elderly horse began swaying on his feet. Tucker looped a nylon strap around the horse’s neck, then handed one to John, instructing him to put it around Old Doc’s belly. “We’re going to pull him toward us. All right? That way, when he goes down, he’ll go in the direction I want him to.”
Sorenson sent Tucker an incredulous look. “I’m not as spry as I used to be, son. I may not be able to get out of the way.”
Tucker chuckled. “He won’t fall toward us, but just in case, let Samantha hold the strap.”
Samantha hurried over to take John Sorenson’s place. Unlike the farmer, she had no fear that Old Doc would fall toward her. To stay on their feet, horses had a natural inclination to shift their weight against the pull of the straps. When she and Tucker suddenly eased the pressure, the drugged gelding would topple in the direction he was leaning, away from them.
“Okay,” Tucker said. “He’s pulling hard against us. Let loose on the count of three.”
When they released their hold on the straps, Old Doc went down, falling away from them just as Tucker had predicted.
“Damn, son,” Sorenson said. “That was slick.”
“Just a trick of the trade,” Tucker assured him. “When you’re dealing with animals that outweigh you by over a thousand pounds, you learn quick.”
He drew a towel from his satchel and slipped it under the straps of Old Doc’s halter to protect the side of his head that lay on the ground. “He’ll be totally out in a second.”
The moment the horse lost consciousness, Tucker went to work, calling upon Samantha to hand him pieces of sterile gauze and antibiotic ointment as he lanced and swabbed the abscesses. She enjoyed assisting him, even though she knew he could have managed just as well without her. It felt good to be outdoors in the late-summer sunshine, and helping the old horse to feel better when he woke up filled her with a sense of accomplishment.
As Tucker cleaned the last abscess, he gave John Sorenson instructions on follow-up care, stressing that the hay should be returned to the feed store and that the owner should be forced not only to refund the purchase price but also to pay Old Doc’s vet bill.
“Don’t settle for anything less,” Tucker insisted. “And whatever you do, don’t buy any more of his hay when you’re not wearing your glasses.”
Sorenson chuckled and patted his shirt pocket. “I hate the dad-blamed things, but I’ll wear ’em to buy hay from now on, rest assured.”
While Old Doc was coming back around, Samantha followed Tucker into Sorenson’s shop, where they washed their hands at a utility sink.
“Thank you,” Tucker said as he handed her a paper towel from the roll above the faucet. “Just for the record, I think you chose the wrong profession. You’d make a damned good veterinarian.”
A half hour later they were back in the truck, Samantha once again sitting between Tucker and Max. Even with the windows rolled down, the interior of the cab was uncomfortably warm. Tucker poured his dog a drink from the cooler jug he kept on the floorboard. When the dog had finished lapping from the plastic bowl, Tucker leaned across Samantha to rifle through the glove compartment for a bag of jerky. His shoulder grazed her breasts, each contact sending shivers of sensation coursing into her belly. She was glad when he finally straightened. Or so she told herself.
“Ladies first,” he said as he handed her a portion. “You have to love veterinary work. Some fancy lunch, huh?”
Max wolfed down his portion of dried meat without even chewing, licked his drool-flecked chops, and looked expectantly for more.
“Oh, no. One for you, one for me, and one for Samantha. Just because you finish first doesn’t mean you get more.” When the rottweiler barked, Tucker said, “You are so spoiled, you’re rotten.” He tossed the dog another piece, leaned across Samantha again to return the bag to the glove box, and then started the truck. “That’s it, you glutton. You won’t have room for dinner if you fill up on jerky.”
After backing the truck from t
he drive onto the road, Tucker plucked his cell phone from his belt to order a giant pizza to go, half sausage and black olive, and half Canadian bacon and pineapple, Samantha’s favorite. It wasn’t lost on her that he remembered. A funny, warm feeling moved through her at his thoughtfulness.
As the truck picked up speed, Max hooked his front paws over the lower edge of the window. Seconds later, face to the wind, ears inside out and flattened against the sides of his broad head, the rottweiler was the very picture of contented bliss. Samantha kept having to wipe flecks of windborne drool from her cheeks, and so did Tucker.
“Hey,” he said. “A dog is man’s best friend, remember? You have to take the good with the bad.”
Just then the Dodge listed into a left-hand turn. Max, straining to keep his balance on only his hind legs, let loose with a loud and very odoriferous fart.
“Nasty!” Tucker waved a hand in front of his face. “Damn it, Max. We’re in mixed company. It smells like something crawled up inside of you and died.”
“It smells like a rotten bean burrito to me,” Samantha corrected with a choked laugh, then took his earlier advice, burying her nose against his shirtsleeve until the wind dispersed the odor.
She thought that they would eat at the clinic as they usually did, but after picking up the pizza, Tucker drove toward the river. Samantha hadn’t bargained for an impromptu picnic. She wanted to get back to Tabasco as quickly as possible.
As if he sensed her concern, Tucker called the clinic to check on the horse. After disconnecting, he smiled down at her. “Riley says Tabasco is doing just fine, and there’s no reason for us to hurry back. Stop worrying and enjoy yourself for a while.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To a special place I know. You’ll love it.”
Five minutes later, Tucker parked at a bend of the stream where huge ponderosa pines with cinnamon trunks cast deep shade over the grassy riverbank. He spread a wool lap blanket on the ground, deposited the pizza box at its center, and then produced a bottle of merlot, a corkscrew, and two crystal goblets.
“You planned this,” she accused.
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, his eyes warming on hers. “And I went to a lot of trouble, so please don’t ruin it by worrying.”
Max plunged into the water, sending up a spray that nearly reached the blanket. Dunking his head below the surface, the rottweiler pushed against the current, sending up a wake behind him that rivaled that of a speedboat.
“What on earth is he after?” she asked.
“Minnows. It’s one of his favorite pastimes—that and trying to catch frogs. He never gets anything, but he doesn’t let that discourage him.” Tucker sat cross-legged in one easy motion, uncorked the bottle of wine, and then handed her a filled goblet. After pouring a measure of merlot for himself, he touched the rim of his glass to hers.
“To good friends,” he said.
“To good friends,” she repeated, but the feeling that moved through her when she looked into his eyes felt much stronger than mere friendship.
That worried Samantha, but not nearly as much now as it had when she first met him. Tucker was devastatingly handsome and charming, yes, but there all similarity to Steve Fisher ended.
“It’s lovely here,” she said softly.
Taking a sip of wine, she gazed across the river at a meadow carpeted with yellow dandelion blossoms. Never in her memory had she seen anything so pretty. The sentiment made her wonder if she was losing her mind. How could she grow almost breathless over a bunch of weeds? Maybe it wasn’t the scenery that she found so extraordinary, but the man who sat beside her.
“Beautiful,” he agreed, only when she turned to look at him, he was gazing at her, not the meadow.
Tension stiffened Samantha’s spine and crawled up the back of her neck. Friendship between them was one thing, but the thought of anything more scared her half to death.
As if he sensed her unease, he opened the pizza box and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. That jerky was only an appetizer.”
Always at hand during mealtime, Max lunged from the water onto the bank, braced his feet, and began to shake. Tucker slapped the pizza box closed in the nick of time, then threw up an arm to protect his face from the deluge that followed. Samantha managed only to cup a hand over her goblet and took the spray on her cheeks.
“Damn it, Max! How many times do I have to tell you not to shake right next to people?”
Still drippy and sporting a happy grin, the huge canine lumbered closer and plopped his wet rump on the edge of the blanket. Tucker shook his head as he reopened the pizza box. “Did I mention that I took him to dog obedience school?”
“Yes.”
“Did I also mention that he flunked?”
“He what?”
“We had to go three times before he finally earned his ‘attaboy’ certificate. The lady who taught the class almost gave up on us.” As they dug into the pizza, he entertained her with hilarious accounts of the stunts that Max had pulled during training, last but not least the dog’s love affair with a female cocker named Lady. “It was ugly. Lady’s owner didn’t realize her dog was coming into heat and brought her to the very last class of our third session. Max had been doing great, sitting when I said sit and dropping when I said drop and staying even when I walked away. I honestly thought he was going to graduate with honors that last time around.”
Grabbing a napkin, Samantha wiped pizza sauce from the corner of her mouth. “Only he didn’t?”
“Let’s put it this way: An amorous male rottweiler doesn’t sit, drop, or stay, no matter how loud you yell, and it’s really hard to untangle the leashes when two dogs are doing a canine version of the bedroom tango.”
She smiled at the picture taking shape in her mind.
“Max got his certificate, but only by the skin of his teeth. I think the woman passed him in desperation, not wanting him in one of her classes again.”
Samantha thought it was far more likely that the woman had kept flunking Max so she could continue to enjoy Tucker’s company. “Is she married?”
“Who, Lady?”
Samantha let loose with an undignified snort of laughter. “No, not Lady, the teacher.”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I never thought to ask. Why?”
“Just wondering.” She gave the dog a piece of the pizza. Max devoured it whole, pineapple and all. “I think it’s odd that she flunked Max twice. He’s very well behaved, in my opinion.”
“And the teacher’s marital status is important because…?”
Thinking quickly, Samantha replied, “Maybe she fought a lot with her husband and flunked poor Max twice in a row because she was in a terrible mood.”
“Trust me, that wasn’t it. Max put her in the bad mood. The first time he met her, he sniffed her jeans and peed on her leg.”
Samantha shrieked, laughing so hard and for so long she felt weak. “No more,” she pleaded. “I can’t eat and laugh at the same time.”
“It’s a giant pizza. You have to eat.”
Max whined pathetically for another offering, his liquid brown eyes fixed on the pizza box. Samantha grinned and gave him a second serving.
After they finished eating, they took a walk along a trail that followed the river. At another bend in the stream Tucker grasped her hand and helped her up onto an outcropping of rock.
“Have you ever seen water so clear?”
Samantha was so distracted by the warmth of his fingers curled around hers that she only dimly registered their surroundings.
“Look at that trout! Isn’t he a whopper?”
She gave herself a hard mental shake and leaned forward to see. Just then Max gamboled up onto the boulder, bumping against the backs of her legs. Just like that, off she went. Still holding her hand, Tucker made a gallant attempt to save her from falling, but his riding boots slipped on the rock, he lost his footing, and both of them plunged willy-nilly into the water, Samant
ha doing a belly flop, Tucker landing butt-first.
Water went up Samantha’s nose and down her throat. She shot to the surface, coughing, sputtering, and gasping for breath. About three feet away, Tucker, minus his Stetson, treaded water, his hair flattened like a skullcap and droplets glistening on his dark eyelashes. Max barked excitedly from the rocks, clearly delighted that his human companions had finally decided to have a little fun.
“Are you all right?” Tucker asked.
Just then catching her breath, Samantha managed to croak, “Fine, I think, except that I’m sinking.”
Her boots were full of water and pulled at her feet like cement blocks. Thrashing with her arms, she tried to swim toward the bank, but she’d never been a strong swimmer and felt herself going under despite all her efforts. Just as the water reached her mouth, Tucker hooked a strong arm around her waist, lifted her up, and swam with her toward shore.
When he could finally touch bottom, he said, “No worries, honey. I’ve got you.”
Still in over her head, Samantha clung to his neck as he pushed closer to shore. Moments later he deposited her on the bank, his arm still clenched around her waist. For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, she stood pressed full-length against him, unable to drag her gaze from his. She felt his heat and the hard planes of his body. Everything within her felt as if it were melting. Her heart pounded like a trip-hammer, and her breath came in shallow, jagged bursts. She was sure he meant to kiss her, and if he did, she would be in big trouble. He filled her with physical yearning that she’d never experienced with Steve. It was madness. She knew it was madness. But right then clear thinking eluded her.
Tucker broke the spell by releasing her. Running his palms over his hair to rid it of water, he blinked as if he’d been poleaxed. He looked downstream for a long moment, then directed a burning glare at his barking dog. “Hang it, Max, that hat cost me almost two hundred dollars. Now it’ll end up in the Pacific Ocean! One of these days I’m going to wring your damned fool neck.”
Still shaken by the near occasion of intimacy, Samantha released a tremulous laugh. “Oh, now, he didn’t mean to do it. He’s just big and clumsy.”